The Long Sleep

Little dreamer,
woman-child so frail,
how could I know
when I knocked you down the years
that you would cling impulsively
to the man I would become?

I, ten years wearier,
your only link to the past:
a decade forfeit to coma,
all that once was yours
lost and forgotten:
you, my key to a mystery
ten years unsolved.

But They still lay in wait
with Their unearthly patience,
to pounce on your awakening,
making a tool of the dead
to strike the blow so long delayed.
Oh, little one
fragile carefree runaway,
why did I delay?
Abused by expedience
They withered you,
stole your years away.